White Pumpkin, You Say?
A white pumpkin? My first thought:
A large white fleshless bony hand
or two, joined at the wrists to creepily band
together to form a gourd;
reaching out of the cold ground
toward the stem, all around;
it doesn’t strike a festive chord
a cheerless harvest hybrid; my last thought…
Copyright © Mary Cummings | Year Posted 2009
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment